Trusting the Keys
by issyrocks1383
Summary: His arms moved fluidly in and out as his hands changed places on the piano but never once did he open his eyes to check where they had landed. He had left himself go in music, trusting it completely. Reese's lip curled slightly. Maybe one day Finch could be like that with him.


Finch lifted himself out of his chair slowly, taking care not to pull his spine in a painful manner. They had a relatively easy number today, a middle aged daughter that wanted the money in her stepmother's will sooner rather than later. She was purchasing a gun and ammo downtown and Reese had stopped her. He kept his earplug in place, still hearing the chaos that was New York through his partner's earwig. If he paid attention, he could hear John's breathing but he had no desire to.

In fact, the only desire he had had of late was to play the piano.

He taught himself to play by ear in his early teens. Part of him had been hoping to impress a young girl in the future and as it turned out, Grace was quite fond of hearing him tickle the ivories. Often she would sit on the bench beside him as he played whatever sound she wished to hear. If up to him, he would have filled the house with the tunes of Liszt, Chopin, Beethoven and other worthy composers. But, as fate would have it, Grace preferred modern ballads from Celine Dion and such. Of course he had played for her. If he could go back, he would have played for her until his fingertips bleed.

Here in the library, Finch could play whatever he pleased, at least until John returned. He continued to hobble in between bookcases. Upon the seventh, he made a left turn and was meet with an old sight. A black Steinway grand piano, closed and coated in a blanket of dust. His eyes noticed one clear line drawn in it, as if a finger had been swapped along the side.

"John." He wasn't surprised. As a trained agent, it was Reese's instinct to study his surroundings. Though most likely, he had been looking for some information on Finch himself.

The bench moaned as Harold took a seat and wiggled his fingers out in front of him. People said the best way to guess someone's age is to look at their hands. Looking at his own suddenly made him feel grandfather – like. They weren't too wrinkly but he could feel his joints as he moved them. Side effect of many nights spent hunched over a computer, hacking unto various servers.

His fingers curled as they reached underneath and lifted the hinged lid that had shielded the keys from daylight for several months. He couldn't remember the last time he had played. Resting his fingers in the middle of the keyboard, C position, felt comforting. Almost routine. His days with Reese had made him forget what something familiar felt like. Number and number, he was thrown into circumstances his younger self would never dream of. Yet here he was, reminiscing over yellowed keys like old friends.

Smooth and cold to the touch, he sat there for a while, stroking the black keys with his fingertips, trying to memorize the feeling once more. Harold lightly pressed out a few chords from Liszt's Liebestraume No. 3 before automatically launching into the whole piece. His fingers danced across the notes, almost on their own. He didn't even have to think about the correct phrasing or dynamics. It was all embedded in his brain from years of playing the piece over and over again. He never got tired of the weight-less feeling that came over him as he played. Nothing else mattered. For a few minutes, it would be him and the music. No numbers. No guilt.

And that's how Reese had found him, eyes closed as a slow lyrical song hummed through the piano. He had been careful not to disturb him, leaving the noisy bag of Chinese takeout by the computer. He took note of Finch's face. It was relaxed and free of worry or stress. He had never seen this side of him before. His arms moved fluidly in and out as his hands changed places on the piano but never once did he open his eyes to check where they had landed. He had left himself go in music, trusting it completely. Reese's lip curled slightly. Maybe one day Finch could be like that with him.

**A/N – Fluff. Just fluff xD**


End file.
